


You make it feel like Christmas

by missameliep



Category: Desire & Decorum (Visual Novel)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:27:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missameliep/pseuds/missameliep
Summary: After their elopement, Lady Elizabeth and Prince Hamid reached Constantinople and they settled at the Palace of Topkapi. While her husband is away on a diplomatic mission, the lady of Edgewater hopes he shall be back safe and in time to celebrate their first Christmas. Memories of old traditions and the opportunity to create new ones are expected.
Relationships: Hamid/Main Character (Desire & Decorum)
Kudos: 3





	You make it feel like Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> * A late submission to Choices December Challenge - Day 25 - Christmas.  
> * This story takes place in the same AU of the series The Pursuit of Happiness and about 4 months after the events of Chapter Twenty: Make you feel my love (which is still incomplete, sorry about that).  
> * See the notes in the end for the meaning of non-English words used.  
> * A bit lemony.  
> * All characters belong to Pixelberry, except Nesrim (OC).  
> * English is not my first language.

The late afternoon sunrays coming through the tall stained-glass windows painted colourful geometric forms on the floor and on Lady Elizabeth’s arm. Holding up the white cloth on her palm, it turned into a bluish hue, while she folded it in a perfect square.

The light barely reflecting on the floral blue patterns of the tiles covering the walls was an indication the sun shall set in less than an hour. Soon, the world will be painted with darkness.

The days have become shorter, however, aren’t as dark or cold as they used to be at Grovershire this time of the year. With her mind’s eyes, she sees the garden covered by thin ice in the morning. Everything glistening with the faint sunbeams. Waking up was arduous. Breathing in the crisp morning air unpleasant. The bone-chilling wind blowing through her clothes would make her shiver. However, she misses the crunching sound of ice under her boots before sunrise.

The hail and all the damage it brings or the cold water that caused her fingers to ache, those she prefers to forget; although the shenanigans she’d engage with Briar during those winter days they shall be forever etched on her memory. The dense fog created the perfect atmosphere for playing hide-and-seek or for telling haunting tales. She misses Briar greatly.

Still waiting for replies to the letters sent to England, she wonders which fate was in store for her dearest friend after her depart. 

The sound of the feminine voice chanting calls her back to the present.

Elizabeth wasn’t at Grovershire anymore. She wasn’t at England either.

*****

The tall stone walls of Saint-Malo disappeared. The emerald waters turning darker while the frigate cruised farther from the coast. For over twenty days, they sailed. At the end of their journey, her eyes contemplated the splendours of Constantinople.

Hamid whispered in her ear the names of the buildings and pointed to the palace atop the hill. A shiver ran down her spine. She won’t forget it, and Hamid held her closer.

“Fear not, _habibit_ 1,” he whispered, “Whatever happens, we shall stay together.”

She nodded and soon her feet touched a distant and mysterious land, that a girl born in a tiny English village never dreamed of stepping in.

*****

Almost four months have passed since that sunny morning and the rooms at _Topkapi Palace_ have become her home, even if she never feels at ease here. Judging eyes upon the British woman brought by _Şehzade2_ Hamid, as they call him here, seem to follow her everywhere.

The palace is grandiose, exactly like he described. Endless hallways. Tiling covering the rooms from floor to ceiling. Rich patterns that rendered her speechless, just like he said she’d be.

The ones in Hamid’s chamber were particularly lovely and she’s sketched it one afternoon; she’s also drawn a portrait of her handsome husband sleeping and he looked peaceful with hair dishevelled and lips curved into a small satisfied smile. Not once, however, she finished one when he was awake. Hamid would remain still for no longer than five minutes, then he’d start talking and teasing her. A peek at the unfinished work. A kiss on her neck. Words whispered on her ears, until the will to draw succumbed to temptation. On the drawer, lie a few incomplete aspects of him: the outline of his face with the beard, which has grown softer as he said it would, one eye without its long lashes, a wide smile. Luckily, her memory preserves every single piece of him.

Several other scenes she’s sketched as well since her arrival; amongst her drawings, a few were sent to Ms. Parsons, who would love to see the magnificent architecture and its many inhabitants. Her pencil has captured residents and workers sporting their colourful robes, so different from the English ones; but she lacks the skills to transmit the shivers that still run down her spine at the sight of the guards standing immobile in the hallways. Her abilities shan’t ever capture her solitude either.

Since the day her husband parted for his assignment at Tripoli, almost two months prior, even though she’s constantly surrounded by uncountable people, she feels lonelier than ever before in her life. Elizabeth sees his face everywhere and hears his laughter. Always expecting him to surprise her at the garden, a smile on his lips, a rose in his hand, just as he used to do before parting.

Many hours she’s spent in the company of Nesrim, Hamid’s eldest sister. However, there’s an insurmountable barrier between them: the language. The woman doesn’t speak English and the little French Elizabeth knows isn’t enough. Whenever the interpreter assigned to the British is around, she deliberately chooses the mildest and most mundane subjects. The single occasion she was inquired about personal matters and her childhood, her brown eyes widened breaking her otherwise serene facade. “ _C’était bien 3,” _she replied dryly, and the conversation came to an end.

Hamid confided the circumstances of her marriage and the necessary alliance to protect himself and his father, and she felt empathy for her new sister.

Listening to the melancholic tune the woman sings while playing the _kemençe 4_, green veil framing her olive face with lids tightly closed, she wonders the burdens she carries, certain that she might never confide her any of them.

Nonetheless, Elizabeth enjoys having her around. They can ease a tad each other’s solitude, whether it be a warm smile at tea time, or teaching each other new words or a gentle squeeze in her hand, just like Hamid does, to reassure her when she isn’t strong enough to repress the sadness inside her chest.

Every day she misses him, and she equally misses the friends and loved ones that she might never see again; such thoughts she chases them away by occupying herself, keeping her hands and mind busy. Uncountable drawings and embroidery have been made these days and her fingers developed callous from the _kanun’s 5_strings.

Throughout her days, Elizabeth finds herself surrounded by quiet women whose eyes rarely meet hers while uttering words in unfamiliar languages. Unless they’re singing, in such occasions the voices resonate and fill the entire place. It almost seems like the universal language of music unites them all. Even the British lady.

Sometimes she’s encouraged to sing, and from her lips fly the arias she’s learned from her mother many years ago or the songs Ms. Parsons taught her at Edgewater. Others she just watches them, and Elizabeth tries to learn both to play and to dance like them.

However, no matter how many activities she engages during the day, it can’t keep her mind occupied long enough. Worse are the nights, though. At her chamber, she finds an empty bed. Her husband won’t join her underneath the silk sheets and warm her nights with his apt touches nor his pleasant presence and wholehearted laughter. She lies in the company of her thoughts and the memory of his depart, her hand fisting the blue kaftan he left behind at her request. Closing her eyes, she sees it all and even hear his voice.

_Her palms fisting his coat. Pulling him closer. The salty of her tears streaking down her cheeks reaching her lips. The muffled pleas against his chest. “Take me with you, Hamid. Please.” His hand cupping her face. “I shall return to you, my love.” A promise whispered on her ear time and again, until her crying ceased. A last kiss on her lips and then he was gone. A dèjá-vu from another departure that also brought tears to her eyes._

Tripoli wasn’t at war, the words should reassure her. But this fact wasn’t enough to soothe Elizabeth’s heart and prevent her mind from assuming the worse. Another week went by without news from him and it’s hard to swallow the lump on her throat. Her memory brings back the persistent commotion of her first days at Constantinople because of the bombarding at Algiers. Any attack against the Ottoman Empire could be perceived by their enemies as a sign of weakness, Hamid explained at the time.

Elizabeth’s hand stroked the silks of his kaftan, fingers tracing the golden patterns. Even though his scent has vanished completely, she nuzzles it, trying to find a trace of him.

Tonight, her eyes drifted to sleep in the middle of a prayer for his safe return.

*****

The world outside was bathed in darkness when she was awakened by a persistent knock at her door. Hamid’s kaftan was used to cover herself and preserve her modesty. Her heart thumped louder with each step towards the door. No one would ordinarily call her before sunrise. Her mind raced and she feared something terrible might’ve happened to her husband. In vain she tried to swallow the lump on her throat. She drew in a deep breath before her hands unfastened the lock.

The sight of Hamid’s smiling face greeted her on the other side.

His beard and hair were longer, indications of the many days they’ve been apart. But the wide smile was the same, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he said, and his voice was the most glorious melody she could’ve heard.

“Oh, my God!” she covered her squeal with her hand and with the other she reached his face, “It’s you! It’s really you!”

He chuckled when she grabbed him by his wrists and hastily pulled him inside, slamming the door closed.

Soon, her arms encircled his waist and she breathed a sigh of relief against his chest. His finger tilted her chin upwards and he kissed her cheeks and lips over and over. The beard brushing against her skin, tickling her neck.

“Is it not a dream?” she mumbled.

“No.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Unless we share the same one.”

Pulling away, she eyed him carefully, “Are you all right?”

“I am uninjured and overjoyed, now that I’ve been reunited with you.”

His answer, however, was insufficient to placate her concerns. He giggled when she examined his hands and lifted his arms. “I’m unharmed,” he insisted. However, without uttering a word, she narrowed her eyes and let her hands diligently roam and inspect the curves of his torso, until her palm rested on his neck. Eyebrows knitted together, she pursed her lips.

Eyes fixed on hers, Hamid’s hand stroked her cheek and he asked, “What’s the matter, my love?”

“You lost weight.”

“I did not,” he objected grinning, “I ate well and was terribly prudent. Just like you recommended.”

It didn’t matter if he was lying through his teeth, she couldn’t hide her joy.

Her soulmate had returned.

Raising to her tiptoes, arms around his neck, she kissed him. Softly at first. Then her tongue traced his lips and soon was dancing with his. Their caresses growing urgent. Her fingers entangled on his dark hair. With increasing passion his lips claimed hers. His fingers raked through her long silky brown locks.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, and his thumbs wiped her happy tears.

“I’ve missed you greatly, as a drowning man misses the air.” He pulled her back to him and nuzzled her hair until the rosewater fragrance filled his lungs.

“I was so worried! So many days without news…”

“I’m sorry, my love. I did my best to keep you informed and to return shortly and in safety. But we’ve had many inconveniences…” He flashed an apologetic smile.

“I wish we would never part again, Hamid,” she said softly and pulled his face to hers until their foreheads touched.

“So do I. But since that’s something beyond my control, I shall not make such a promise. What I can promise is to always find my way back to you. For as long as I shall live.”

“Hamid,” she said snuggling against his chest for a moment, breathing him in. Her hands tracing the muscles of his back and shoulders, and his snaked their way underneath the kaftan and fondled her curves.

Looking up at his face, she uttered with concern, “Oh! Have you eaten? You must be hungry.”

“My hunger can you only be satiated by you,” he replied with a provocative tone, causing her to blush.

Another flow of blood rushed to her cheeks when his fingers trailed a path from the side of her face down to her neck and to the valley between her breasts.

A fit of giggles echoed when they stumbled while blindly moving around the room without breaking the kiss. Their clothes dropping to the floor in a trail leading to the bed.

When she finally rested her head on his chest, his heartbeat strong and accelerated, she wished time would stand still and they could remain forty days and forty nights in each other’s embrace, like the lovers from the tale he told her on their wedding day.

“You are breath-taking, my love,” his bright eyes gazed at her nudity with lust and he captured her lips once more. “And far too tempting, but I must take my leave and prepare to present myself to his Majesty,” Hamid said sitting straight on the bed.

“No! Stay with me…” Giggling, Elizabeth’s arms encircled his shoulders and she pulled him back, legs encircling his waist. Loving words breathed between kisses until he successfully extricated himself from her limbs.

“I must go.” He pouted.

“Those stately affairs have kept you from me for far too long…” she whined holding his hand. His thumb caressed the back of her hand and he brought it to his mouth for a lingering kiss.

“Be patient, _hayatim_.6”

“Patience is not one of my virtues…” she retorted.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. “When the night comes, I shall be entirely yours,” he purred on her ear, “and every inch of you shall be worshiped until the morning light is upon us. Or perhaps longer.”

She lowered her eyes and smiled coyly.

“Please, come to my chambers after the sun sets.”

“It shall be my pleasure, Your Handsomeness!” She winked and he laughed, like he always does whenever she calls him that, and she often does it just to hear it.

Chin propped on one hand, Elizabeth watched the clothes covering his body piece by piece. The most beautiful man in the world. Even though his lean body has lost a bit of weight, and she could notice the sharp edges of his bones under the flesh on his back, she said nothing about it. He was home and that’s what matters. The sole Christmas present she wished and prayed for.

“The evening cannot arrive soon enough, my prince,” she mused, and he flashed an unabashed grin over his shoulder.

*****

Tonight, the darkest hours won’t reserve loneliness nor tears, on the contrary. Tonight, shall be filled with joy. The only crying will be of his name, she muses and her cheeks redden.

While Nesrim drinks her tea, Elizabeth admires the embroidery on her hands.

Her fingers trace the shape of the elegant H surrounded by small delicate roses, like the ones her husband offered her from the inner garden of this wing of the Palace. The work made her proud, the stitches were perfect, and she clearly improved her craft since the first times she sat with the sewing circle at Edgewater. Her grandmother would be proud as well, not that it’d matter anymore.

“ _Ceux-ci sont beaux 7_,” Nesrim smiles examining one of the handkerchiefs. She returns it to Elizabeth’s hand, who thanked her and placed it inside the simple wooden box, that was brought from the grand market across the city at her request. Three white as snow handkerchiefs, each one of them folded in a perfect square, lying on the brown surface. The note on top of them to transmit wishes of joy, even though this is a foreign celebration to Hamid, she hopes it will please him, before closing the lid.

A colourful fabric covers the box and she uses a strip of another fabric to tie a large bow, just like she used to do back home. A single tear escapes each eye. Memories of her mother and the first Christmas without her. Life was so cruel she wasn’t given the opportunity to share one with her father before he died.

“Would you need a special robe, Lady Elizabeth?” Nesrim’s question was translated to her.

“I already have the perfect one,” Elizabeth wiped the tears, and smiled thinking about the white and silver dress Hamid offered her and she wore on their wedding day.

*****

The guard’s knuckles rapped on the wood.

Elizabeth pulled the box behind her back and squared her shoulders.

The door opened and revealed Hamid in his green and amber kaftan beaming at her.

“My love,” he bowed and stepped aside. Gazing at each other, she brushed past him and noticed the beard and the hair were trimmed shorter. “You honour me, _hayatim_ , by accepting my invitation.”

“There’s no greater pleasure in any of my days than to be in your company, my husband,” she replied with a wide smile, “Especially after being apart for so long.”

A chaste kiss on her cheek and she felt the luxuriant scent of the oils. Her mind could anticipate the smoothness of his skin and hairs.

“The sight of you wearing this dress shall always take my breath away and my mind to one of the happiest days of my life,” he whispered.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, my prince,” she said lowering her eyes.

Amused, he observed her posture while she stood with her arms behind her back. “What have you gotten there, my Elizabeth?” he asked peeking over her shoulders.

“A gift for you.” The box passed to his hands. “Thank you, my love.”

A boyish smile curved his lips framed by the beard. His eyes alight with joy, while he untied the knot.

“It’s something handmade. In England we have many traditions during this season, and I shared this one with Mama. Every Christmas, we’d offer each other and our friends a gift we made ourselves.”

He placed the box over a small table. First, he read the note near a lamp. Next, he studied each handkerchief.

“They’re gorgeous. I thank you very much, my love.” He inched closer and placed a kiss on her cheek. “If only you had told me this morning about this tradition or your desire to celebrate Christmas…” He sighed dramatically.

“I didn’t want to trouble you… You’re most certainly exhausted from your travel and from this day.”

“I’m very fortunate to have such a considerate wife.”

He offered his arm and led her to the adjoining room. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the smell of food reached her nose. A _sofra⁵_ had been set up there and atop of it her favourite dishes on display: bread and goat cheese, two bowls with lentil soup, others with rice and kebab, baklava and figs.

The quiet servant lighted the candles amongst the greenery serving as decoration. There were green branches attached on the furniture around the room.

“Merry Christmas!” Hamid said softly.

“Did you plan this?”

“May I consider by your look that you enjoyed the surprise?”

“I loved it!”

Hamid approached the servant ant they exchanged a few words. She recognized when her husband dismissed the man and said goodnight. As it’s customary, the man placed his hands on his hips, bowed and excused himself.

Turning around, Hamid helped Elizabeth to sit down.

“You never told me the kind of meal you’d enjoy back home; thus, I ordered the ones I know you like the most and the ones that could be similar to the English ones. This pudding might resemble the plum one you eat there.”

“It was certainly nothing like this. At home, we would share a simple stew with vegetables and plum pudding. When we visited the Dalys, we’d have one of Mrs. Daly’s famous walnut pies. Their house was always filled with laughter. Mr. Daly would be home. All the children playing…” she mused, and her eyes wistfully looked at the window.

“I’m sorry if I cannot offer you all of that.”

“Everything looks absolutely perfect, my love. To its last detail.” Her hand caressed his over the table, and his other hand covered hers and they smiled at each other.

“Even the greenery? I didn’t know if we should have a specific one for decoration,” he said, a finger brushing the leaves of a sprig closer to his hand over the table, “I remember from the holiday I spent in the Prince Regent’s company there were branches and garlands everywhere… even one log.”

“We used holly and mistletoe back at Grovershire.” 

“Mistletoe? I remember being told about this tradition…” A mischievous smile played on his lips and his fingers encircled one of the twigs, lifting it over their heads. “Don’t dally, my love.” He leaned forward and puckered his lips.

“That’s not mistletoe, Hamid.” She shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to snicker.

“We could pretend…” He winked and beamed, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

“You needn’t any ruse to make me kiss you, my prince,” she said softly, and her hands cupped his cheeks. A coy smile that didn’t vanish even when her lips brushed his.

Hamid offered her a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese, and they ate and talked. She missed the sound of his voice, and she wouldn’t mind listening to his tales until the sun casted its light upon them, and by his delighted expression, she was certain he wouldn’t mind doing it to amuse her.

“I was informed that I might be assigned a post in Vienna in the nearly future. Instead of a man of the sword, his Majesty needs a man of the pen, who might deal better with the cultural barriers and advance the negotiations.”

“That sounds marvellous, my love!”

“It’s not England… But we might be a step closer. And from the continent, it shall be easier if you ever wish to visit.”

Once they finished eating the dessert, he held her hand and pulled a small silver box from his pocket and placed it in her palm. “I also have a gift for you, _hayatim_.”

Inside the box, she found a silver locket decorated with flowers. Her fingers grazed the metal and she studied the details.

“It’s absolutely beautiful, Hamid!”

“As you know, I carry your miniature at all times,” he stated touching the place where his inner pocket was located. “Now, you can carry one of me if you like.”

Listening to his words, she opened the locket and gazed at the tiny portrait.

“You’ll notice I’ve chosen a profile one, so you can appreciate my nose.” He turned his face and his finger skimmed from the spot between his eyebrows to the tip of his long nose.

“You remember that?” she gasped, and her nose scrunched as it does sometimes when she feels embarrassed and her cheeks warmed. “Such a silly thing I said…”

Hamid’s hand touched the side of her face, and he admitted, “I probably remember every word you ever spoke. Especially if they were flattering.”

Her gaze lowered to the jewellery.

“Do you want me to?” His index finger pointed at her palm then at her neck.

“Yes, please,” she replied excitedly and placed the necklace on his hand.

Walking behind her, he knelt and sat on the balls of his feet. His fingers pulled her braided hair to the side before working on the fastening. When he finished, his mouth touched her neck and then her shoulder causing all the hair on her body to stand on end and a familiar shiver to ran down her spine.

“I shall never take this off,” she whispered when his arms encircled her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder. 

“I’m pleased,” he said softly.

“Your gift is so thoughtful, while mine…” she trailed off and her fingers encircled the pendant. “I’m afraid without father’s allowance I cannot afford more than what I’ve offered you…” she lamented, and her voice was low and timid.

“There is absolutely nothing these nimble fingers do that won’t bring me pleasure,” he said in a suggestive tone and kissed each one of her fingertips, “Which includes your gift.” The back of his fingers brushed her warm reddened cheek and she drew in a deep breath.

“Besides, we both wish we could offer more…” he breathed against her neck, “I failed to… to provide you the celebration you longed for. I know Christmas is important to you and we are far away from England… I still don’t know if I shall ever be able to return and…”

“Hamid, don’t chastise yourself for that,” she said pressing his hand against her chest, “You are here, and you make it feel like Christmas. I wish for nothing more.”

“Truly?”

She nodded and they smiled at each other. His arms encircled her again in a tight embrace, and she leaned her head, her cheeks touching his. They revelled in the comfort of their reunion.

“I’ve got another surprise for you,” he said and stood up.

“Another one?”

In an instant he crossed the distance to his desk.

“You shall spoil me, Hamid.”

“Here.” He placed a stack of papers neatly folded on her hand. “Konevi forwarded a parcel from London with letters from your friends. It arrived in my absence, and only today it was delivered to me.”

“That’s wonderful news!” She examined the names and the different handwritings in each of them. “Would you mind if I read Briar’s?” He shook his head beaming. “I shall save the others for later.”

“You may read them all if you like, my Elizabeth.”

Excerpts of the letters she read aloud for him, sharing the news from Grovershire and Edgewater and the fuss that followed their elopement.

Fits of laughter with Ms. Parsons’ retelling of the events of the day she was supposed to marry the wicked Duke of Karlington filled the room until they were breathless and Elizabeth couldn’t read anything else.

*****

That night, lying in his arms, Elizabeth thought that life might’ve taken a great deal from her, but at the same time, bestowed her with more than she’s ever dreamed of. A true Prince had whisked her away to live in a palace. Even if the reality is nothing like the fairy-tales, she doesn’t regret any of the choices that brought her here.

She kissed his hand, which was lying beneath hers, and drifted to sleep lulled by his steady heartbeat.

It was the best Christmas she could’ve hoped for: Hamid was safe and sound asleep by her side; and, per usual, the safest place for her was in the circle of his arms.

He was her home, as she was his

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. habibit - my beloved.  
> 2\. Şehzade - prince.  
> 3\. C’était bien - It was nice/fine.  
> 4\. kemençe - a string musical instrument.  
> 5\. kanun - a string musical instrument.  
> 6\. hayatim - love, darling, my dear.  
> 7\. Ceux-ci sont beaux - These are beautiful.


End file.
